


Fabricated World

by rosemaryblues



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Hallucinations, Older Ib, Other, Psychological Horror, based on a mix between memories crannies and promise of reunion, lots of painting and flower symbology, multichap, non-binary/transgender garry, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-04-18 07:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4696823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosemaryblues/pseuds/rosemaryblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[ON A TEMPORARY HIATUS - first few chapters are being rewritten!] </p><p>It’s been three years since Ib lost all memories of the gallery, and of Garry. He’s been trying to move on, while she’s been searching for freedom. Will an unexpected reunion dredge up bitter feelings of the past, or will it pave the way for a happy future?<br/>For the world that pulled them apart, and for the one that brought them together, are they really two people who should never have met at all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Smoking Gentleman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today is Ib's birthday, and Garry can't help but still feel the need to fulfill their tradition. Even if she hasn't remembered him for the last three years, no matter how much it aches, this last connecting tie is something he feels obliged to do. Through rain or shine, Garry's happiest moments were when the young girl was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: mentions of hallucinations.

_He felt his heart twist sharply, and his entire body begin to shake, the hysteria in the weight of her words echoing in his ears. His rose quivered in his hands, and he lifted his head to meet her gaze._

_Ib’s face blurred in and out of view. Through the haze he could barely make out the tears that were streaming down her cheeks, from her normally bright eyes that were now filled with only fear and confusion. The younger girl took a step back as he reached out towards her, and she shook her head fitfully, clenching her fists tightly._

_Choking out another sob, she glared with all the defiance she could muster, and sucked in another deep breath._

_For every nightmare they had come across in the Gallery, the words that Ib repeated instilled a sense of dread that no painting could ever hope to achieve._

_This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening._

_How had he let it come to this?_

_“D-Didn’t you hear me, Garry…? I said I hate you…! I hate you more than anything…!”_

* * *

Red was a colour he thought he would come to hate, the colour of fire and blood and anger, a colour so recklessly exploited, a colour humans associated with the blinding aftermath of violence and terror.

He never thought red could be anywhere near kind, something that could scare away the dark, that reassured him amidst all the terror and fear that unreality had brought.

He was blue; melancholic and impetuous rolled into one. The two were complimentary opposites, counterparts who were meant to clash, but when coming together they could create a harmonious, gentle purple, something that could do little to be tainted into grey.

Ib, an embodiment of the true nature of red, was a studious little creature, someone who’s every smile was genuine (for she hardly smiled at all) and who saved most of them for the times he could make her laugh.

Garry was rather awkward, perturbed at life’s every misstep and who’s complexities seeped into every fibre of his being, a strange trait that Ib was enamoured with.

Garry didn’t have a lot of friends as it was, but Ib’s childish innocence and high-class respect made for a perfect combination. Ib’s curiosity towards him wasn’t snide, but rather a honest liking for the type of person he was. Because of this, he in turn treated her far beyond her years.

The two couldn’t have been any more different; he could talk to her without any difficulty whatsoever, and she enjoyed his vibrant company thoroughly. They were from two very different worlds, but for the world that brought them together, Garry was secretly relieved.

As unconventional as it was, he really could call her his best friend. For the unusual bond they shared however, while it had worked for survival’s sake in the Gallery, he somehow knew it wouldn’t last.

One day, Ib had woken up, and when asked if she wanted to go out shopping with him that day, she had simply tilted her head in confusion, and asked, “Who is Garry?”

The amnesia was slowly impending, rotting away at her inner core while she seemed relatively unaffected by the damage. Doctors couldn’t detect any unusual signs, and continuous therapy made no changes to its pace. In fact, Ib seemed no different, and her parents were glad that she wasn’t waking up with any more nightmares, but there was an almost silent knowing that the only memories that were being affected somehow involved Garry.

And as such, because the nightmares had begun around the same time that she had met the older, nobody was going to complain

Daily after-school outings to the local café and weekend shopping trips whittled into weekly visits to the hospital, then into fortnightly meetings with Ib’s parents instead as the months far-reaching from their escape from the Fabricated World finally seemed to take their toll.

Throughout it all, Garry had been struggling for an answer, being in her company as much as he could to try and jog all of what she had forgotten. But life for Ib and her family was slowly turning peaceful, and it was Garry’s erratic race against time that eventually became the biggest disturbance of them all.

His final goodbye was a fluster of panic as Ib’s parents had sat him down to explain that he was no longer allowed to see her, and that his presence was only adding more stress on her already fragile condition. He had denied their claims, asking for permission to go and ask Ib herself and as they reluctantly agreed, he visited her in her room, where she had been in the middle of a tea party attended by an assortment of colourful rabbit plushies.

He’d knelt down in front of her, and offered a hand, asking quietly if she recognized him at all. She’d shaken her head, given him a courteous smile and had placed a blue plastic teacup in his hand. Her request for camomile or rosehip on his behalf had brought on his tears, and he’d left in a hurry, without so much as a second-glance back at her.

After the separation, his mind would continue to dance precariously around her memory, and as he tried to move on, he was hauntingly reminded of the point in the gallery where they had been separated by the stone thorns of the Flowers of Jealousy, causing them to part ways for a short manner of time.

But this was different, because even though Ib was there, and alive, she couldn’t recall any of those memories anymore. As such, Garry could no longer be by her side.

He too wanted to forget, but he wasn’t doing himself any favours that morning by lingering on his apartment balcony, where the sickeningly sweet scent of the red roses blooming around him was stronger than ever.

Their abundance in such a small space wasn’t a design choice Garry had made; he would’ve rather them be scattered about the tiny grey apartment just to give it some colour, but his Jackson’s sensitive nose wasn’t having any of that.

His roommate’s toddler was prone to nasty allergies, and as a result Garry had to continue his unhealthy smoking habit outside. The feverish ruby glares from the roses egged him into guilt as he inhaled another breath of tobacco, feeling the charring flavour dance lividly on his tongue. He glared at the surrounding flowers, as it seemed like their only purpose was to remind him of the girl that was no longer by his side.

Even though Ib had no recollection of who he was, today was something he couldn't miss out on. The importance it held had had him on edge for weeks, and now that it had finally arrived, he had woken up as nothing but a jittery mess.

Grimacing in irritation at himself, he busied himself by focussing on how the sky was blended together in pastel pink and purple, and how the air was chilly but not cold enough to make him want to bundle up in something thick and warm.

Taking a deep breath, he leant nonchalantly against the railing, attempting to appear calm as he heard the door behind him slowly slide open. His roommate, Holly, came to stand next to him, stifling a yawn and tightening her fuzzy pink dressing gown around her.

The rising sun barely illuminated her features; tanned skin dusted with patches of freckles, hazel eyes framed by shadows and auburn tresses pulled back into a messy bun. The older woman stretched sleepily, nudging him gently with her shoulder.

“What’s up?” Holly yawned, giving him a lopsided smile.

Garry stiffened, hunching over at her touch, before offering a rather pathetic grin and waving a hand dismissively. “Nothing’s really…up. I’m just out here enjoying my cigarette as usual.”

She gave him a quizzical stare, and he turned away quickly, prompting her to sigh and straighten up. Garry barely had time to react as he felt her palm collide with the back of his head, and he let out a yelp, throwing his arms up defensively in preparation for another attack.

“You didn’t have to hit me, you know!”

Holly shrugged, flashing one of the toothy grins that he knew her so well for, and opted to prodding his stomach. “Well you’re off with the fairies this morning. Gives me a chance to land a surprise attack.”

Garry arched his body away from her hand, sidestepping closer to the edge of the balcony and out of her reach. Holly made no attempts to continue, however keeping her playful demeanour as she turned around and leaned with her back against the rail instead.

He took another drag, turning his head away from her curious gaze, and with pursued lips he pushed the swirling, smoky mass back out into the atmosphere. Holly began tapping her fingers rhythmically against the metal, before bringing them up to face level and taking a profound interest in her nails. She clicked her tongue, angling her head on her shoulder to glance at him crookedly.

“So?”

“…Yes?” Garry still refused to look at her, busying himself by tapping absentmindedly at his cigarette with the edge of his finger. The aftertaste made it even harder to breathe in the morning air, and he covered his mouth with his sleeve as he began to cough.

Holly screwed up her nose, coming over and prying the butt from his fingers and flicking it over the edge, Garry watching in horror as it spun towards the pavement below.

“First of all, I wish you’d stop smoking. It’s not good for you.”

“I hadn’t finished with that...!”

“Well jump over and fetch it, if you’re desperate enough.”

The comment received an indignant grunt from the younger, and he pouted childishly, resting his head on his arms. She smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing affectionately. “It’s _her_ birthday today, am I right?”

The feeling of Garry flinching beneath her touch confirmed her suspicions, and she retracted her arm, raising both of them in the air instead in salute of her meagre victory.

Garry watched her incredulously, and she stifled a chuckle. “It’s not like you have to hide it from me, you know. It’s really obvious anyway.”

“What do you mean by obvious?” Garry raised an eyebrow.

“I get you can be pretty awkward, Garry, but you’re only this restless when it has something to do with Ib.” Holly’s voice softened.

Garry felt something twist in his gut, and he turned away, lowering his head to scout for the fallen cigarette. Having been blown by the wind, it lay in the gutter, its orange glow all but having disappeared into a thin fizzle of smoke.

The air was cold, biting at his lungs and forcing his throat to contract. He looked up once more.

“Today is…just going to be hard. Three years can feel like ten when I remember that she has no idea who I am anymore.”

 

*

 

The chilly morning had paid its dues, bringing an onset of heavy rainfall to follow. The dusty greys from the surrounding buildings and neon lights from passing cars merged in his view as the rain washed away the colours around him.

His feet made scuffing noises against the wet pavement as he walked, his hair clung soaking to his skull. While he’d anticipated the change in weather, he’d been too focussed on his objective ahead to even consider the importance of an umbrella.

Winning points went to the freezing cold, one-man team of Garry, who knew better than the people he passed that he looked as miserable as a drooping flower. Even with his normally bright aptitude, his withered appearance blended perfectly into the scenery around, and he became perpetually invisible amongst the grey backdrop of the dreary afternoon.

He tightened his jacket around himself as he turned a corner, making it to a busy intersection. Ducking his head into the crowd as they began to walk, he looked back over his shoulder at the bright and flashy sign of ‘Peter Penanski’s Pizza Palace’. The large, moustached mascot modelled atop the restaurant glared down at him, and he turned away, gritting his teeth at its creepy gamut. He’d called off ‘sick’ today from work, only to receive an earful from his manager Noah; something about his reoccurring incompetence and how the duty of being an employee was somehow like the binding contract of marriage;

“In sickness and in health, you’re expected to show. We’re here to feed the public, Garry, not to convenience ourselves with arbitrary days off. I expect to see you in here tomorrow, first shift. Don’t be late. They need us.”

Gritting his teeth in irritation, he pulled away from the crowd and slid under cover from the rain into a side alley. He was suddenly drenched in shadows as the buildings on either side loomed overhead, blocking out the sky.

Garry’s pace never slowed, and he powered through the darkness, leaving the sounds of busy pedestrians and booming traffic behind. The sounds eventually faded into lonely echoes, and he was left to the unsteady rhythm of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he continued to walk.

The ground became sloped, upturning him on a slight angle and he steeled his heels, trying his best not to rush from the slowly rising fear of whatever lay unseen in the shadows around him.  His vision wavered, slowly getting used to the change in contrast.

He swept matted hair from his face and let out a long sigh. As his footsteps slowed to a careless amble, he steadied a hand against the cobblestone wall, feeling along the mottled edges in an attempt to calm himself down.

It was only then that he realised just how soaking wet he really was and he crossed his arms over his chest, shivering feverishly. Rushing into things when his anxiety was at its peak was a trait Garry wasn’t proud of, but his need for getting to the source and eliminating it as fast as possible was something that he really couldn’t help.

Holly had been right in saying though that Ib was generally a cause for his hysteria. Three years of separation had taken its toll, and although it was unfair for him to be as hung up as he was, he had done what he could to keep her out of mind.

Or so he told himself. Was such a trip like this even necessary? What was he even doing out here, rushing around the city like a fool?

It was self-preservation more than anything; he felt obligated to fulfil a duty he was no longer a part of. Ib’s life went on, but his was stuck in a constant loop of regret and fear. The lingering aftermath of the terrors from the Gallery had dug into his withered mental state more than he could ever know.

Ib knew. She had been the only one who could understand, let alone sympathize with what he felt. It was hard letting go of the bond they had shared, of the unexplainable circumstances that had brought them together. Even if he couldn’t admit it, she had saved his life.

The least he could do was show his gratitude.

All this overthinking had bought Garry’s anxiety to the surface, and his stomach tightened as he took another shaky breath. Flexing his fingers, his next mistake was looking ahead through the hollowed darkness.

It was empty, and haunting, and at any moment a dark shadowy figure could run out towards him, or disfigured black hands could reach and grab hold, never to let him go. Now that he knew monsters existed, there was no telling what could come.

Fear vaulting through his gut, he stumbled backwards, his head beginning to spin. The shadows seemed to creep forward, hungry for his vulnerability, and he keeled over, cupping the back of his neck in his hands and lowering his head onto his knees.

 _Relax, Garry. It’s okay. It’s alright._ He told himself over and over, but the nervous prickle in his stomach intensified, leaving him short of breath as his throat began to close. For a panic attack to hit him now of all times, he internally scolded himself, knowing that taking care of his own health was a priority above all else.

He looked up, and through the nausea he felt a sudden sense of familiarity. If it wasn’t the timing, he realized that _this_ place…

The familiarity slowly divulged into nostalgia, and he closed his eyes. For just this moment, he knew it would be alright, and so he let himself indulge.

The darkness and cold fell away, giving rise to static behind his eyes. The air became still, and for a moment he heard nothing but silence.

There was warmth, and not just in the air around him.

A small hand was holding his, swinging back and forth in his grasp. A gentle breeze weaved its way in between the buildings above them. Shadows flickered and danced around them as they walked, parted here and there by sunlight that followed along after them into the secluded passageway.

Ib’s delighted demeanour and trusting smile towards him made his heart swell, and he lifted her arms above her head playfully, laughing at the little noise she made as she stumbled from the action.

Garry tapped his chin, and Ib looked up at him inquisitively. He flashed a grin, squeezing her hand affectionately. “It’s not far now, Ib. Just a little ways down, then around a corner…Ah, that reminds me.” He stopped, swivelling on his heel and crouching down to face her. “You’re not scared of taking this route, are you? I mean, it’s a little narrow, if not…”

Ib shook her head, leaning up to gently run her fingers along his hair. “It’s alright. As long as Garry’s with me, I’m not afraid.”

He stared at her for a moment, before clearing his throat and straightening up again. “N-Nor am I. I mean, I’m not afraid…By that, I mean I’m not too reliable on my own by myself, with myself. If that makes any sense-“

“Garry.” Ib stifled a giggle, taking his hand again and swinging his arm playfully. Garry flushed in embarrassment, before letting out a sigh.

“I meant, when I’m with Ib, I’m not afraid either.”

The two reached an intersection, before taking a left and heading down a slightly more open alleyway. The buildings separated and stretched out, revealing the clear blue sky above. They continued to walk, reaching a small nook on a corner that opened up into the busy town ahead.

It was market day, and the town had woken from their usual sleepy routines into a menagerie of colour. Assorted stalls lined the streets, delicious scents tickled their noses and the sounds of chorusing voices rose over the crowds swarming in front of them. It was a rather old-fashioned tradition, Garry thought, but exciting nonetheless. He’d find himself enjoying it thoroughly, if he ever got over his fears of crowds and loud noises.

He turned back to Ib, but her attention wasn’t focussed on the bustle in front of them. Her eyes widened, and she pointed upwards at a wooden sign above her. Fashioned into the shape of a rose, its new carmine red paint job gleaming in the springtime sun, the sign read ‘Embodiment of Spirit’.

Ib bounced up and down on her heels, speechless, staring at him with an astonished look on her face. He smiled, before gesturing to the shop in front of them. It was small and seemed somewhat antiquated, with iron roosts holding dangling flowerpots affixed to the sides of the entranceway and an oak door with a curled brass handle inviting customers to come inside.

The door opened, and they were immediately hit with the enticing aroma of many flowers as a woman stepped out, holding a bouquet of lilies against her chest. She gave them a smile, continuing on her way as Garry turned back to Ib, opening his arms wide.

“Remember how I told you there was something I’d been working on and that I wouldn’t be around as often? Well this is it! What do you think…?”

Ib took a step forward, reaching up to feel along the petals of a bundle of red roses lined up against the outside wall. Letting go of Garry’s hand, she took one in her grasp, cradling it against her chest. The tiny, warm smile on her face was enough of an answer without words, and Garry crouched down next to her once more, placing a hand gently over the rose.

Her ruby eyes rose to meet his own.

_“Happy birthday, Ib.”_

The world around him dissolved into grey. The voices of the crowd were replaced by the pitter-patter of the rain and the chill he was feeling beforehand had now come back tenfold. He was shivering feverishly, his shaking hands clasped around something tightly.

His vision came into focus, and he found himself crouching in front of the flower store, gripping tightly onto a rose. The thorns dug deep into his gloves, pinching into his already numb hands. He let out a cry of surprise and fell backwards, groaning inwardly as his posterior came into contact with a muddy puddle.

He went to stand, gritting his teeth from the effort, before he heard a voice say, “Garry? What’re you doing here?”

He snapped to attention, dropping the rose with a start into the puddle below. Standing in front of him was a young man, brunette hair pulled back into a loose ponytail and brown eyes giving him a cautious stare. The man stood still as Garry pushed himself up, instead adjusting his grip on the umbrella he held. He grimaced as he retrieved the rose from the ground, carefully placing it back amongst the others, before turning back to Garry and eyeing him warily up and down.

“Ah, A-Anton…I didn’t know you’d be on today…” Garry stammered, sweeping his hair out of his eyes.

“Neither did I. Still doesn’t answer my question though.”

Garry shuffled nervously, although it was hard to tell under his intense shivering. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, and took a deep breath, before murmuring, “I…I came here to shop.”

“To shop…? In this weather?” Anton seemed to finally take pity on his acquaintance, holding the umbrella out sheepishly over him. Garry gave a thankful and confirming nod, huddling closer than comfort towards Anton.

“The boss doesn’t like you here anymore, you know. She’s told you to stay away.”

Garry’s shoulders tensed, and he turned his head away, feeling the lingering anxiety in his stomach flare back up again. “I…I know. But this is important. I wouldn’t have come here otherwise.”

There was a long moment of silence, before Anton let out a sigh. He tapped Garry gently on the shoulder, jerking a thumb towards the open door.

”Well, I can’t help the fact that she’s not here today. And as long as you’re willing to pay-“

“I am.”

“Then come on inside. Just…please don’t touch anything.”

Garry chose to ignore the comment as he felt relief wash over him. Stepping over the threshold and into much welcomed warmth, he gave the younger man a weary but grateful smile.

“Thank you.”

 

*

 

The rain never slowed that day, building up into a horrendous downpour as evening drew near. The winds had picked up, causing the water in the nearby bay to crash against the shoreline, and the trees to bend over themselves in struggling efforts to stay standing. Most residents had retired for the night, closing up shop early and tucking themselves in, waiting for the weather to pass.

A young girl stood on the porch of her grandiose mansion, wrapped tightly in a thick red shawl. Her crimson overwear contrasted brightly against the darkened landscape, and her long brown hair whipped out behind her as she took a step forward, studying the torrential rainfall with widened eyes.

She reached out a hand, a jubilant smile crossing her face as it suddenly became drenched from the rain. Reaching her arm out even more, the rain covered her sleeve, darkening the thick material and causing the girl to tilt a little in surprise. The juxtaposition between the warm, dry overlay of the porch and the roaring world outside caused her stomach to flip as she took it all in.

Her moment was short lived however, as the door opened loudly behind her and she was ushered hurriedly inside. She stood in a daze as her head was covered in a towel and a pair of hands began to furiously dry at her hair. It took her a moment to gather herself and she dropped out from beneath the hold, crouching on the floor and angling her head to look upwards.

The woman standing before her bore a look of painstaking concern, and she tapped a foot, her features shifting to one of annoyance instead. The girl simply blinked, and the woman knelt down, placing a hand gently on her head and brushing the matted fringe from her eyes.

As the words, _‘There’s ‘that’ present waiting for you by the front door again, sweetie’_ left her mother’s mouth, the girl was gone in an instant, excitement bursting through her as she peddled down the hallway as fast as she could manage. She slowed to a practiced, quaint stride as her father passed by, giving him a wave and a smile before picking up her pace once more.

She turned a few corners, took a shortcut through the music room, before stopping to a complete halt at the opening front entrance. The rain had dimmed to a distant echo as it pelted against the large mansion, but the noise flared up louder in the hollowed entranceway, dominating the sound of her heartbeat pulsing in her ears.

Above the shoe locker sat a beautiful bouquet of sixteen red roses, but she stepped past them in a flurry as she yanked open the front door. Her senses were invaded once more by the storm, like a watery quartet whose notes were amplified to cater to the exhilaration pumping through her veins. The warmth from the house left her body in an instant as she ran down the slippery stone steps and into the world outside.

She sprinted as fast as she could, her breath coming out in short, excited gasps as she felt the inclination rise that maybe, just maybe, she would catch up with _them_ today.

She ignored the desperate pleas from her mother to come back inside as she halted before the gates, grasping onto the metal bars tightly and peering out into the darkness.

But darkness was all she saw. No car, no bike, nothing that could indicate that there was anybody ever there. She slowly angled off her toes, her feet sinking back down into the gravel, and she looked downwards, feeling her excitement deflate into a numbing disappointment.

She felt hands on her again, this time her father’s, as they wrapped around her arm and pulled her back inside. She didn’t speak as her mother scolded her and wrapped her in another towel. As she was guided back down the hallway, she angled her head over her shoulder and looked back at the roses that were left on the locker.

Flowers weren’t enough to satisfy her curiosity anymore. She had this profound need to find out who it was that left them for her on her birthday every year, but it seemed as if this time she had missed out.

There was something within her that was missing, she knew, and those roses were part of the cause. She wouldn’t rest until she knew what it was that she was trying to find out.

The storm continued to blow as she walked away in silence.

 

* * *

 

_“Rose, oh pure contradiction,_

_Joy_

_Of being No-one’s_

_Sleep under_

_So many_

_Lids.”_

_-Rainer Maria Rilke._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! This fic means a lot to me and I've spent the last two years rewriting and perfecting the plot, and I've finally reached the point where I feel confident enough in the characters and my own writing to upload and put it out there for others to read! Updates will vary, depending on my internet connection/life responsibilities, but I will try and update as best and as fast as I can!


	2. Embodiment of Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ib's need for answers is becoming stronger, and as such, her mind is pushing past the boundaries of her amnesia and dipping into glimpses of her past. She turns to various sources to help, but not everybody is mindful of her feelings. She can't help but wonder, however, if the mysterious stranger who leaves her roses every year might hold some clue to what she is missing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: mentions of brutal/horrific character death towards the end of the chapter.

_The air was still, the silence tranquil._

_She opened her eyes, comforted by the darkness that surrounded her. Her body lay flat, seemingly suspended in space. Her eyelids flickered, and she took in a steady breath, feeling the air around her waver in return._

_Clenching and unclenching her fingers, she became aware of something warm flowing gently around her body. Spreading her arms out slowly, the watery substance followed suit, and she let out a sigh, closing her eyes once more._

_The familiarity of the unchanging scene allowed her to feel relaxed, contented in this eerie void._

_As alone as she was in the dark, the comfort of freedom stilled any fear that threatened to arise._

_There was nothing to disturb her, nobody to take charge and pull her from this illusory world._

_Something prickled on her chest, and for a moment she thought the fear had crept past her defences, until a crimson glow appeared beneath her eyelids, pulling her from her dreamlike state. A rose materialized into view, velvety petals glimmering as the light gradually became brighter._

_Transparent dots danced across her vision and she lifted her arms to shield her face, tilting backwards and letting out a cry of surprise as her body went under. She spun off balance and was suddenly upside down, foamy white bubbles rising past her body as she began to sink downwards._

_The rose remained on the surface, its glow reaching out in recurring, rhythmic pulses towards her. The murky, inky blue of the surrounding ocean rippled with light, and she marvelled in awe as rubicund and cyan bled into lilac all around her._

_The colourful display caused her heart to soar, to revel in its enigmatic, illustrious beauty. She reached out towards the source, the light seeping through her fingertips and staining onto her skin. Her porcelain features suddenly became awash with mosaic-shaped hues, and she felt an erratic sense of wonder rush through her._

_There was nothing so sorely pure that she had felt, an unexplainable urge to fall deeper and deeper into a world where nobody could reach, to become one with this vivacious afterglow._

_Letting out her final breath, she allowed the waters to swallow her whole, further and further downwards until oil coated her lungs and all she could see was darkness._

_Down, and into the awaiting abyss below._

* * *

 

The ringing sound of her alarm echoed loudly in her ears, and she woke with a start, sitting up quickly. Her vision swam from the impromptu action and she sank back down with a quiet groan, fumbling around lazily for the clock’s switch.

Once silence had filled the room once more, she pulled the covers over her head, wanting nothing more than to slip back into sleep. She couldn’t remember what she had dreamt, but she had the feeling that it was something extraordinary, something she would much rather enjoy doing than the day’s events ahead.

Ib’s days were filled with nothing but extensive activities; tutoring from 9:30-4, music lessons after, family ‘bonding’ time from dinner onwards. There was never a moment where Ib wasn’t active and moving, but the rush from delay she found a little idiotic, especially given her current situation.

Ib lifted a hand to lift up the crimson coloured curtains fitted to the wall beside her bed, and her finger traced the tinted surface of her window. Minimal sunlight filtered through, giving her room a dullish, grey glow. She let out a sigh, pushing the covers off and heading towards the adjoining bathroom connected to her room.

Closing the door behind her, she leant against it for a moment, before sweeping her hair behind her shoulders and reaching out for the sink. She stopped with a start when she noticed the bouquet of roses she had left behind the night before had been placed on the edge of her vanity. Their presence bore into her mind, shifting her awake with anxiety.

She angled her hand to lift up the bouquet instead, gripping the paper cover tightly so it crinkled submissively in her hold. Staring blankly at the label that read ‘Embodiment of Spirit’, she turned back towards the vanity’s mirror to look at her reflection instead.

Pale features, framed by long silky brown hair, thin lips set back into a rigid frown. Her large, painfully red eyes stared back at her, filled with nothing more than hatred and disgust. They were sunken, grey shadows lining underneath, characteristic of a face that hadn’t seen sunlight for more than 25 days.

With her stomach turning nauseous flips, she turned away, propping the roses up to cover the mirror. The rest of her morning was painstakingly on schedule; another swift goodbye from her father as he rushed out to work (her mother following suit only 20 minutes after), breakfast alone, and a preordained doorbell ring 15 minutes later.

As she contemplated ignoring the ring, the doorknob turned on its own accord and in stumbled a young man, early 20’s, shoulder bag clinging to his side and spectacled glasses pushing a blonde fringe out of his auburn eyes. A thin grey sweater was tight on his lanky frame, and his boots made loud scuffing sounds against the floor as he hurried in the door. Closing it behind him, he let out a breathless whistle, tapping at his watch with a wide grin.

“8:59! On the dot! Technically I’m neither early nor late!”

Ib gave him a blank stare, and Colin turned away, his lips twitching at the corners. They retreated into the dining room, their makeshift tutoring area, and Ib quietly took a seat across from Colin. He dumped his bag on the floor with a heavy thud, and began to pile books onto the dining room table.

“So I thought we could continue with psychology today, since you were really getting the knack of Jung’s theories about personification. What do you think, Ib?”

Ib gave the smallest of nods, and leaned back in her chair. They continued in silence, Colin’s smile having dissolved into a small frown, and the air thicker than usual. He knew that something was amiss with the girl, but he considered trying to relate to a teenager something a little too daunting.

Half an hour into reading the same sentence over and over, Ib tentatively looked up at the older man, who was busy readjusting his papers for the twenty seventh time. She opened her mouth and spoke the first word she had said all morning.

“Colin?”

“Ah…yes?” Her tutor sat up straight, pushing his glasses up his nose, his tone too flat to convince her that he felt anything but awkward.

“…Can I ask you something?” Ib’s voice was quiet, he noticed, and her demeanour was more reserved, perhaps shrunken, than usual.

Colin felt the slightest tinge of nervousness bubble in his chest, and he slowly closed the textbook he held.

“What about?”

Ib breathed out through her nose, scratching at the table’s surface absentmindedly with a nail. She wrinkled her nose, before turning her gaze towards him.

“According to Jung…dreams sometimes represented something more than just the subconscious mind.” She twisted the end of her braid in between two fingers, furrowing her brow in thought.

Colin blinked in surprise, and leaned forward in his chair. “He spoke of it, but not all that much. It wasn’t the sort of topic he was wholly interested in. He _was_ a psychologist after all.” He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to look at the younger girl.

Seemingly not noticing his stare, Ib asked, “Do you believe that dreams could be…something else, Colin? Something a little more than…just dreams?”

“Why do you ask?” He crossed his arms.

She went quiet once more, seemingly not prepared for such a question. The younger took a moment to steady herself, clenching and unclenching her fingers. If there was anyone who could put logic to this, it would be him.

“Lately I’ve been having…these dreams.”

‘Lately’ was a lie; she’d been having them for as long as she could remember. Vivid dreams that she could only recall as a blur of messy colours once she awoke, dreams that had no reason to exist as they did.

“Alright…” Colin’s voice suddenly took on an edge of scrutiny, and he tapped one finger on the edge of his arm. “Go on?”

Ib pursued her lips, now habitually untying and retying the ends of her hair. She crossed the tresses backwards and forwards over one another, before lacing them back into their original braided pattern.

“I’m…not sure what they’re about. I can’t really remember them. But…I get this feeling.” Ib now seemed to be gazing at nothing, and Colin could feel the nervous tingle return once more. “It’s weird, I know. Probably even weirder to hear about but…”

“Ib.” Colin’s voice wavered, and she was suddenly pulled back into reality, blinking rapidly back up at him.

“Freud thought otherwise, you know.”

“…?”

“Freud’s own study into dream interpretation involved something a little more refined. He believed that rather than dreams having outside influence, that they were more symbolic of what our inner consciousness truly wanted.”

Ib stared at him now, and he felt the back of his neck go cold.

“Freud interpreted dreams” He continued, “As our consciousness reaching out for desired answers in our unconscious mind. Dreams can be strange, and unpredictable, and if not replaying memories, then they’re fulfilling more of what we truly want in life. Ib…what sort of ‘feeling’ do you get from these dreams?”

The teenager shifted uncomfortably as Colin quoted the word with his fingers, and she looked towards the ground.

“That…they’re maybe not…just dreams? I’m not sure, but…” Her voice went quiet.

“They feel way too real to just be something made up in my own head.”

It took a moment for Colin to straighten up again, uncrossing his knees and smoothing down the surface of his pants.

“I think I get it.”

“Really?” She sounded genuinely surprised, and Colin frowned. “Of course.” He adjusted his glasses and crossed his arms, his tone shifting into one of ‘matter-of-factly’.

“With your situation, it’s natural that you want to go outside. Your mind is stretching out for all sorts of crazy possibilities, to fill up the gaps that you don’t know how to handle. But you’ll understand one day, I’m sure.” He cleared his throat, and retrieved a book from the pile in front of them. As he waved it in front of her face, Ib’s nose crinkled at his feigning interest, and she seemingly glowered up at him. Her normally blank face usually read no emotion, but this time he could swear her eyes were just that slightly more glistened than usual.

His point rigid however, he simply bonked her gently on the head with the book, and opened it up in front of her. “Let’s get off the topic anyway; it’s a little awkward. As I was saying-“

His words droned on, falling in through one ear and out the other. She had hoped that Colin could’ve entertained her thoughts, even for a little while, but Colin was set in his ways, and as stubbornly dismissive as could be. He was someone who’s logical way of thinking trumped everything else, and in it he could lose himself, and the ability to relate to those around him.

The dreams she was having, the lingering sense of nostalgia and overwhelming urge to ascertain whether or not they were real ( _they couldn’t be, she very well knew. Colin was right about that at least …wasn’t he?)_ had grown to the point where she couldn’t contain it anymore. She needed answers, anything to calm the almost desperate state she was in.

As the lecture (Colin hadn’t engaged her once, instead going on and on about philosophy versus psychology and how to ‘discern reality from fiction when it came to matters of the mind’) was reaching its first break-time, Ib pushed out of her chair and hastily began stacking up books.

Clearly perturbed at being interrupted mid-rant, Colin grimaced and crossed his arms, pointing towards his watch. “What are you doing? We still have ten minutes left.”

Ib hunched her shoulders and sucked in a breath, shouldering her backpack and looking him straight in the eye. “You’re…dismissed. Lessons are over today.”

“P-Pardon?” He blinked in surprise, taken aback. The younger girl swept a strand of hair behind her ear, readjusting the straps of her pack. They stood in silence for a moment, before Colin let out a sigh and came to stand in front of her. He tapped a finger on his thigh, his mouth twisted into a scowl.

“Is this because of the dream thing? Look, I’m sorry, but I’m right about this. The concept of dreams having spiritual meaning is, folly, in all honesty.”

“That’s not…”

“Is this because of your condition? Because you and I both know that-“

He didn’t get to finish, for as soon as those words left his mouth, she was out of the room and around the corner in a flash, escaping quietly away into the mansion’s darkened halls.

 

*

 

The afternoon went on quietly. Colin left early, and Ib was left to her own devices, so she entertained herself by flocking to every available corner of the mansion, hoping to fill up her memory with any source of untouched carpets and walls. She dragged her feet along the lining of the dining room floor, tracing her toes along the wooden planks and poking them into every mottled age spot left behind from their days as trees.

She traipsed up and down the stairs, slamming her heels into every step, listening carefully for each slightly different echo she made. She knocked on the walls, felt around the curvatures of doorknobs as if she hadn’t done this so many times before.

Not once did she go near the windows, but she was tempted to reach out and feather her fingertips along the dark, thick edges of the curtains, to lift them up and let the tiniest ray of sunlight filter through.

As much as the urge ached, it was fear that rooted her into place. Fear of going blind, never being able to see colour again. Fear of the sun slowly burning holes through her skin, of boiling her blood and leaving her bedridden for the rest of her days.

Ib was lucky to be able to have as much free roam throughout the mansion as she did, and was even luckier that her parents trusted her enough to look after herself sometimes. Her condition restricted her from living life as a normal human being, of going outside and experiencing the world like everybody else did.

It was the reason she hated her eyes, and the colour red even more. Red was painful, deceitful. She was always told how beautiful she was, how her garnet gaze and porcelain quality was a beauty incomparable, but she felt such comments were useless if there was nobody else besides her parents (and _Colin)_ to even look at her.

She felt ugly, her body and face to be rejected by the universe, burned and soiled if she even reached out to find her place. There was only so much she could do to keep her mind off it, when the days wore on and her schedule was nothing but constructed, concisely repetitive.

So when night finally drew near, and her parents walked in the door after work, Ib was more than relieved to have a break in the silence. As they sat down to their Friday night supper (grilled halibut with cilantro butter), Ib listened intently to the playful banter between her parents, to the meaningless small talk, to the clinks of cutlery against their plates.

Her mind was almost back in a state of ease when her mother turned towards her, fork twirling in one hand, and said,

“Sweetie, I heard you had a fight with Colin today?”

Andrea’s words pulled her back into reality, and she sat up with a start, the anxiety from before racing back threefold. She stiffened as Peter stopped mid-chew to give her a curious look, and Andrea lowered her fork, Ib’s silence twisting her soft gaze into one of hard concern.

“I…”

“I’m sure it was nothing, dear.” Peter remarked, tapping his wife gently on the shoulder and flashing Ib a reassuring smile. Andrea shrugged him off, however, and pursued her lips. “Ib? What happened?”

Ib wanted nothing more than to sink back into nonexistence, and she struggled to speak as the anxiety caused her throat to close up.

“It wasn’t anything bad...-“

“He called me after he left, and he said you seemed really upset.”

Her mother looked at her expectantly, and Peter sighed quietly. Ib dug her feet into the ground and poked at her fish absentmindedly.

“When we were talking, the subject turned to my…” Her voice trailed away, and the strain in her words confirmed the fear of such a sensitive topic. Her mother’s gaze fell, and an uncomfortable, heavy silence fell over them.

Ib was oblivious to the gentle hand placed on her knee, or the way Andrea struggled to maintain reassurance in the words she thought she needed to hear. Her head turned fuzzy, unconsciously blocking out the speech she had heard too many times over throughout her entire lifetime.

The constant ‘You know you’re not allowed outside, sweetie’ or ‘We’ve already talked about your eyes’ did little to comfort her from her reality. As if she wasn’t the one living it, any semblance or mistake pertaining to her wanted freedom always resulted in a flurry of panic from a mother who tried to shut down any such ideas she might have, to the pitiful heart-wrenching gazes from her father, so much so she just couldn’t stand it any longer.

She turned away from her mother, and her eyes found the previously covered windows on the other side of the room, curtains drawn and the moonlight filtering dreamily inside.

The sky was pitch black, stars dotted here and there in an overlaying, intricate pattern. The moon shun brilliantly, spilling over the carpet in a milky white glow. The marvellous sight somehow filled Ib with a surge of confidence, stilling her fear for a moment only.

The night was a comfort, an ever-present shadow that promised her cover from any harm. She felt reminiscent, if only for a second, that the navy skies could be wrapped around her like some sort of protective coat, and that’s when she remembered. She remembered, that this was the same feeling that she felt from the mysterious person who left her roses each year on her birthday; a new sense of wonder, and the overpowering urge to reach for freedom. If there was anything her dreams were telling her, it was to reach for something more, something that was to be found outside of these four walls.

Pushing through the fuzziness in her mind, she offered a smile, and placed her hand over Andrea’s own.

“Mama, I want to go outside again.”

Andrea’s eyes widened and Peter simply gave a lopsided grin before going back to eating. Ib sat up eagerly as her mother gently squeezed her hand and cleared her throat. “Ib, we’ve talked about this-“

“I know we have. But I’m not talking about during the day. Mama, I can go out at night.”

Andrea was a proud woman, so this obvious, logical jab at Ib’s household restrictions was more like a punch in the stomach. Just like her mother, however, Ib was equally as stubborn, and she leaned forward in her chair, blinking innocently as she continued to heap on reason after sound reason.

“We can go somewhere that isn’t too bright.”

“Somewhere that doesn’t have a lot of people.”

“I’m 16 now, so you really don’t have to worry about me either.”

“You promised me my last birthday.”

“She has a point there, you know.” Peter remarked, turning his head away quickly as Andrea looked at him sharply.

There was a moment or two as Ib’s request hung looming in the air, and Ib could feel her heart racing in her ears. She had never been so bold with her parents before.

“Come on dear, it’ll be fun. When was the last time we went out as a family?” Peter gently rested his hand over his wife’s, and she relaxed her shoulders, letting out the breath she was holding in.

“…Oh all right.”

Ib hissed victory as her mother slumped against Peter, arms folded and lips morphing into a frown. Ib’s stomach flipped in excitement, and she swung her legs back and forth under her chair as she continued her meal.

The candelabra flickered in amusement before her, casting playful shadows across the table and over her hands. Her parents sweet-talked, Peter running careless and romantic suggestions about the food they would eat and the places they would walk, Andrea’s features eventually relaxing back into adoration for the man.

With a jubilant smile and delight running through her veins, Ib looked towards the moon, and whispered the tiniest of ‘thank-yous’ under her breath.

 

*

 

The night was warm, the scent of the sea heavy in her lungs as she reached out over the floating dock to skim her hand across the surface of the water. Her reflection became alive with ripples, her face distorting from view. Grimacing from the effort, Ib continued to swirl her hand back and forth, destroying any chance over and over that her reflection had to reappear, mirrored and still.

A gentle tap on her shoulder pulled her from her stupor, and she stood, sheepishly wiping her hand on the fabric of her jeans. She tightened the red scarf around her neck as it reached out with the wind in the direction of the cove, and she looked up at the man towering over her.

“Sorry.” She mumbled, but all she received was a dismissive chuckle and the lingering touch of his fingers on her head as he gently pet her hair.

“That’s quite alright, Ib. It’s been a while since you’ve been to the sea, hasn’t it?” His heavy, ragged voice was touched with a tone of reassurance, and Ib let out a sigh, turning her gaze back towards the vast, inky waters.

Richard leant against a nearby piling with one hand in his jacket pocket, the other scratching at the messy brown stubble growing into his neck. His icy blue eyes surveyed the empty jetty around them, his piercing gaze a stark contrast to the lazy warmth of the spring air. He somehow eerily fit into their surroundings, looking more like a careless fisherman than to what was his actual profession.

If there was one person that Ib could trust, with all her talk of nonsense and dreams, it was Richard. The man had been her psychiatrist for the past seven years, and was the family’s most reliable friend. Ib’s memory had unexplainable patches, and with her dreams being as bizarre as they were, he was responsible to keep her under check.

Richard had a closer relationship to them than what was typical of a professional and his clients, even more so with Ib. He was somewhat like an older brother, or a fun uncle, than just someone who had been assigned to diagnose and medicate her. A sudden thought crossed her mind, and she felt her heart twist with unease.

_He couldn’t possibly be…?_

“Richard…?” Ib’s asked his name quietly, and the older man straightened.

“Yes?”

Something in the pit of her stomach churned, almost as if she knew the answer before she was going to ask.

“Have…you ever heard of a store in town called Embodiment of Spirit?”

Richard’s eyes widened a little in surprise, and he scratched the end of his nose with a finger. “No, I don’t. Why do you ask?”

Ib gave a half-hearted shrug, turning her back to him. She was secretly relieved, because this meant that Richard had no connection to the roses. If such were the case, then there was somebody else, somebody that she didn’t know who was connected to the gaps in her memories.

Perhaps it was this person who could give her the answers the sought.

They stood in silence, being rocked by the waves beneath them as they lapped gently against the dock’s pontoons. Yachts were anchored nearby, the bells on top of their masts chiming melodically in rhythm to the ebb and flow of the rising tide. Accompanied by the distant shrieking of seagulls above, and the orange and purple neon lights from nearby lampposts bouncing playfully over the water’s surface, Ib found herself being lulled into a dreamy state.

The calls of the seagulls slowly melded into a chorus of voices, rising and falling over her head, and the sound of bells manifested into the distant tinkling of wind-chimes flying in the breeze.

She blinked in surprise, slowly overcome with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. She turned, furrowing her brow as her mind reached out lethargically towards crowds of people slowly edging around her, to the scent of salted meats strong on her tongue and the sun shining brightly, almost lovingly down on her.

She felt timeless, but her mind refused to tip over the edge and into this newfound, however familiar nous. It was only for a second, and she felt the tips of her fingers tingle, as if someone was grasping her hand tightly, before she was pulled back into reality by a gentle nudge to her shoulder.

“Ib?” Richard knelt in front of her, mouth set back into a frown, his eyes inquisitive. Ib blinked multiple times, trying to find her ground, before she rubbed her at her nose vigorously. She tapped her thumbs together, trying to avoid his gaze. “I…I think the medication is finally working.”

“Is that so?” The psychiatrist straightened, dusting off his hands and looking towards the sea. “For the first time in six years?”

“I think I’m starting to remember.”

She was timeless, still amongst the riveting sensation of the world swaying beneath her. Her heart was beating faster than her mind could catch up, and she felt dizzy from the perception. Was this what she truly wanted after all, when the possibility was so close and oh so endless at the same time?

Richard’s face was unreadable as he tilted his head towards the sky.

“What was it that you dreamed of, again?”

 

*

 

_Blistering, hot. The smell of burning oil. The waning cries of a little girl, begging for the end._

_Her beautiful porcelain features, melted like a candle under the weight of the flames. Cyan eyes, thinned and sunk back into empty sockets. Wavy blonde hair whipped deliriously around, trying to escape the crackling embers that climbed towards its roots. A wistful smile, divulging into a horrific glasgow-esque grin as her jaw fell to the floor._

_Her now gelatinous, watery form became smothered by the blaze._

_For something that looked so wet, the fires had consumed her quickly. The girl’s ear-splitting screams turned into distant, lonely echoes, ringing endlessly inside her head._

_“Ib! No! Don’t! Please! Why!? Why!? I just wanted to get out! I just wanted to be like you!”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_The tears were falling, spilling over her cheeks and onto the charred floor below._

_There was nothing but silence, a deathly, suffocating silence that threatened to tear her apart and swallow her whole._

_“I’m so, so sorry, Mary.”_

* * *

 

_"In your light, had I learned to love, here,_

_in your beauty, could I speak knowing of this space close within,_

_as the breath held inside a garden rose there-_

_there is no time.”_

_–John Daniel Thieme._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay in this chapter! I went through a lot of personal things over these last two and a half months, and getting back into writing was very difficult for me. Nonetheless, I managed to finish this, and I'm really glad with how it turned out. Hopefully updates will be swifter in the future!  
> Also, I edited some of chapter one, just to touch up on some things/extend on some scenes a little more! It doesn't really make any difference, but I figured I should let you all know anyway.


	3. Bitter Fruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garry is stuck in an endless motion, day in and day out of the same, boring structure. Work won't let off, Holly refuses to talk to him, and he's left wondering if things will remain the same forever. He's bitter, tired, and isn't sure how much more of this he can take. Little does he know that fate has an unexpected twist in store...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: mentions of self harm/implied suicide. Also warnings of trans dysphoria (mainly for afab individuals) and transphobia/deadnaming.

 

“ _We met some time ago, when we were almost young_ ,

_It never crossed my mind to ask, where did you come from?_

_I didn’t have much money, so I stole you a rose,_

_You were dressed like an orphan, in Salvation Army Clothes.”_

Holly’s raspy voice grated harshly against the sweet verses of Jon Bon Jovi, although her output was quiet, as if she was somehow aware of how she might sound compared to nails scratching against a blackboard.

To Garry however, it was somehow almost soothing to listen to her attempts morning after morning, where she progressed no further than keeping gurgles out of her words. Her song had now dissolved into a quiet hum, and Garry let out a loud yawn, quickly receiving a pinch to his cheek for the action.

“Ow! Pardon you!” Garry scowled, rubbing at his skin vigorously, and Holly poked out her tongue, flipping her head downwards to pull her wet hair back into a messy ponytail.

“I’m not _that_ bad, you know!”

“I beg to differ…but I digress!” He waved his hands defensively as Holly shot him a glare, before she straightened and began buttoning up her orange and green pinstriped work-shirt. Garry wrinkled his nose as she sat across from him, heaping a generous amount of butter onto a slice of toast and shoving the plate forwards.

He fingered the rim of his coffee mug sheepishly, and she rolled her eyes, biting into the corner of her own piece. “Garry, you’re exhausted. At least try and eat something, please?”

Garry let out a heavy sigh and glowered at his breakfast, picking it up delicately in between two fingers. Holly tapped rhythmically on the table, watching him like a hawk as he reluctantly took a bite.

“So, Noah’s got you working, what?”

“Ten hours.” Garry mumbled in between mouthfuls.

“What an ass.” She snorted, sipping angrily from her glass of orange juice. “Seriously, if I were him, I’d uh…give him the worst firing of his life.”

“Thanks for the sentiment.” Garry offered a rather pathetic smile. “But I’ll be fine. It’s not the worst he’s given me.”

“You know what?” Holly waggled her finger. “He always digs into you this time of year. It’s like he’s picked up how important it is to you.”

“Well I always somehow manage to miss the day…”

“Ugh, the tyrant.” Garry hid a smile as Holly downed the rest of her toast rather violently, and watched as she stood quickly and began to stack their plates. Silence stilled between them as Holly wiped down the table with one hand, balancing the plates with the other. As she walked over to drop them into the sink, she hesitated for a moment, slowly setting them down and reaching out for her nametag that was sitting on the bench.

Snatching it up, she turned it over and over, squinting as she examined it. She let out a frustrated sigh, and Garry felt nervousness bubble in his stomach as she slammed it back down onto the table, and tilted her head to give him a hardened stare.

“Just how long have we been working at Penanski’s anyway?”

The question hung heavy in the air as the realization set in, and Garry bit his lip as he raised his hand, curling his fingers into three.

“Please tell me that’s months.” Holly groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically as she sauntered into the adjoining loungeroom and flopped onto the couch.  “That’s such a bummer. No wonder you’re so tired.”

Garry tentatively followed, coffee in one hand and the other shoved deep into the pocket of his dressing gown. He set the mug carefully down onto coffee table, taking a seat on the couch’s armrest. He watched the steam rise slowly upwards from his drink, and he leaned forward to finger the droplets on the rim. Drawing a small, watery line across the surface of the table, he let out a grated sigh.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. We need the money, and both you and I aren’t really qualified for anything else.”  His gaze lingered over the older woman, and she grimaced, curling her hands on her knees.

“Even so…I can’t think of working beneath Noah forever.”

“Me neither, but I don’t think things are going to pick up anytime soon. It’s just this…constant motion.” He twirled his wet finger in the air, before wiping it on the edge of his shirt. “Waking up, going to work, struggling to eat right in the winter. It’s so…medieval, and it’s only going to get worse as Jackson grows older too.”

He almost lost his balance as he felt a pillow collide with his side, and he let out a cry of surprise as Holly stood, shouldering roughly past him. He turned to see her skirting past the table and towards the kitchen door, and he quickly scrambled to his feet.

“Hold on! Where are you going?”

“We’re gonna be late. Hurry up and take a shower while there’s still some hot water left.”

She left with a resounding bang, and Garry cringed, knowing exactly what he had said that had set her off. He grit his teeth and curled his shaking hand into a fist, unsure if he was angry at himself or the entire situation.

It’s not like he was _wrong._ Upon first glance it wasn’t obvious to outsiders, but it was because of Jackson that they were struggling to get by. With their own debts and the sickly carapace that was the 3 year old toddler, anything above leftovers and canned beans was hard to come by.

It really wasn’t his preference, but he had no other choice. As frustrated as he was working in such a dead-end job and for such a repulsive manager, he couldn’t back out, and he really couldn’t think of leaving.

A wave of nausea fell over him as he realised just how bleak the situation was. It really was a never-ending cycle, something he just hadn’t gotten used to. With Ib’s birthday coming and going, it was just another day with such an abhorrent routine.

He picked up his mug tenderly, cradling it in his hands, and he took a sip. Screwing up his face, he hadn’t realized just how bitter he’d made it that morning.

For some reason, he really didn’t mind, and just for that moment, it seemed strangely fitting.

 

*

 

The bathroom was amassed with steam, and the rickety shower door made a scraping noise along the floor as it was opened. He reached out blindly for the towel rack, inwardly cursing for not opening a window or turning on the bathroom fan. He patted down his face, and quickly shagged through his hair before wrapping it around his body, waddling slowly over to the bathroom sink. He gave the mirror a quick swipe down with his arm, and he leaned forward, examining his complexion carefully.

When he was satisfied there was no leftover sleep in his eyes, soap in his hair and no trace of spotting on his cheeks, he let out a sigh and looked downwards, lining the bathroom tap with the edge of his finger. He bit his lip, breathing in deep, before adamantly undoing his towel and beginning to wipe his body dry.

He grit his teeth in disgust as he passed his collarbones and to his chest, where his breasts lay in plain view. He prodded at one, hard, before leaning over to quickly dry in between his toes. He began to reach out for his binder, curling the material in his fingertips before he noticed the reddened reflection of his arm in the mirror. On impulse he scratched at it, curling his fingers around and digging them into his skin, hunching his shoulders abashedly.

 It was enough that he got away with a binder at work, but would Noah reject if he wore long sleeves under his uniform?

It was from Garry’s own stubborn nature that he hadn’t ever owned a long sleeved shirt from Penanski’s, but he felt the need to preserve whatever dignity he had left. Plainly put, the design of the long sleeved shirt in particular was revolting (Noah had tried for the ‘winter theme’, where the pinstripe vegetable palette had been replaced with navy blue and khaki), but he hadn’t had this in mind when he had relapsed the other night. Consequences he had to pay for, it seemed, and he pursued his lips as he straightened his binder around his stomach and bundled his clothes into arms.

After retrieving an old, long-sleeved white shirt from his room and cramming himself into the rest of his uniform, he was skipping out the door as he fought to pull on his boots, a banana under one arm and keys dangling from his mouth. He struggled with locking the door, and dropped the keys several times as the inevitability of time raced to catch him. He glanced at his watch over and over, biting his lip at the five minute mark he had left to cover before he and Holly had to arrive at work.

He peddled out the gate, brushing his fingers along the iron grated wall out of habit, before speeding around the corner and to the complex’s parking lot. He raised an arm in salute, expecting to receive an acknowledged honk in return.

Except there was nothing. No honk, and no car. The space where Holly normally parked was completely empty, and he stopped short, looking around wildly.

“Hold on…did she _leave without me_?”

Turning on his heel and powerwalking back up to the house, he angrily swiped at her name on his phone, but when he received no answer, he let out a strangled cry, clutching at his head and his lips tightening.

“Very funny. Absolutely hilarious.” He muttered, bolting inside to scoop up a helmet that sat in the back of the cluttered broom closet.

He hadn’t even considered the possibility that Holly would leave him to the humility of The Bike, an aged cretin who only took up unnecessary space in the laundry and was a nightmare to get out the door. He was already three minutes late as he peddled as fast as he could down the road, the helmet shifting loosely and falling dangerously over his eyes. He let out short, raspy gasps, his thighs burning with the power of exercise as he sped through the cold morning air, reminding himself to never get on Holly’s bad side again.

He arrived at work 20 minutes late, despite his best efforts, and he thought he might be able to get away with it by sneaking in the back door. As if on cue, however, as soon as he sped around the corner and into the kitchen, he came face-to-face with Noah. His stomach dropped as the older man gave an almost smug grin.

“You’re late.”

“I know, I’m really sorry-“

“And what’s this?” Noah slowly made his way around Garry, inspecting him with beady eyes. He made less of an intimidating presence than he did a humorous one, being a foot shorter than Garry and wearing a bowtie in place of the standard work tie. He swivelled on his heel, turning to face him once more, before waggling his finger up and down. “You’re out of uniform?”

“I…Sir, it’s really cold outside-“

“Tardy and snippety, are we? Tsk, Greta, you’re coming really close lately.”

The world seemed to go still, and he saw one or two of his workmates slow to look at him in surprise. He clenched his fists, digging half-moons into his palms to stop his body from shaking. Noah raised an eyebrow at Garry’s livid expression, before he waved a hand dismissively.

“Whatever the case for your flippant behaviour recently, you still have a job to do. You’re on the grill today.”

Garry dropped his bag in his locker and slammed the door shut, the echo resounding throughout, before he leaned his head against the wall, narrowing his eyes in irritation. Noah may have been arrogant, but he never thought he’d ever stoop to that level. The sound of his birth name rung in his ears, grating against his very essence. He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had used that name for him, and he had made it clear that at least when he began working at Penanski’s, he was going to be addressed as Garry.

It certainly wasn’t in Noah’s best interest, but Holly seemed to be the only one who could twist him around. Because he hadn’t come in with Holly today, Noah must’ve seen his chance, and the man had taken it.

There wasn’t really anything he could do, lest he wanted to be fired. As much as it stung, he would bare it for today. He let out a sigh, dusting his hands on his pants and picking up his name tag. Pinning the design of Penanski’s grinning face (the infamous moustache forming into cursive to read his name) to his shirt, he shook away his embarrassment and stepped out into the kitchen once more.

* * *

 

_“So I see…you don’t have any clue how things got to this point either. It would seem we wound up in very similar situations, I have to say…”_

_He twirled his rose in his hand, admiring the way its petals seemed to shine._

_“Even down to these roses. Wounds appear on me when my rose loses its petals…” He let out a sigh, gently running a finger down the stem. “I thought I was a goner there…thank you for getting it back.”_

_“Now, first thing’s first…We’d better find a way out. I think I’ll go mad if I stay in this dreadful place for too long…”_

_He turned towards her, a gentle smile brimming across his features._

_“Ah, I still haven’t asked your name. My, that was rude of me! Well, my name’s Garry. And you are?”_

_His companion stirred, tilting her head to look up at him. She offered a small, polite bow, her voice quiet._

_“My name is Ib.”_

_“Ib…Ib, you say.”_

* * *

 

The day went on unsparingly; Noah seemed to call Garry just for the most gruelling of jobs (cleaning the bathrooms, scraping the grills, home deliveries) and when it finally reached 5:30pm, he was more than happy to escape. He barely avoided Noah as he retrieved his bag, the older man slicking even more gel into his pale blonde hair, before he was out the door as quick as he could go.

Holly had avoided him all day, taking the window service just to keep out of his way, and as such, Garry was welcomed by pinkish-grey skies overhead as he peddled onwards home. The temperature had picked up, and the evening was met with a cosy warmth that made him feel rather lethargic after the day’s events.

So, instead of turning down into his street, he whizzed past graciously, the wheels of his bike clicking in rhythm to the asphalt below. He slowed to a stop two blocks away and in front of the shoreline, on a narrow stretch of road that led out of town and into the mountains. He leaned against the fence, unwary of any drivers that might come past.

It was a tight squeeze, between his space and the white line separating him from the road. He took to standing on the railing instead, jutting his toes in between the red metal bars and lifting himself upwards to catch the wind in his hair.

The smell of salt and grind from the sea below as it crashed lazily against the cliff’s edge was almost refreshing, and he breathed it in deep, savouring it’s taste far more than any cigarette he’d ever had.

The change from the crowded, dusty kitchens to the scenic view of the bay lifted his spirits a little, and he ran his thumbs over the smooth surface of the railing, finding his mind lingering over the possibility of change.

It wasn’t entirely impossible to find work elsewhere, was it? Penanski’s sure had its fair pay, and Holly was with him most days, but he knew if some other opportunity rose, he’d take it in a heartbeat. However, he knew he couldn’t change the fact that he was swimming in college debt, and that his mental health record is what had him kicked out of the flower shop in the first place.

He wasn’t really sure anybody else would take him in, granted he had tried to send out resumes, only to be politely declined or ignored altogether. It seemed once Marcia had taken charge of the shop, and done her mandatory background check on him, that her uncanny knack for gossip would spread throughout the town, although nobody would admit to hearing it from her. Marcia Acosta was renowned, a textbook upper-class woman who attended more fancy dinner parties than anyone could account for.

She had expressed interest in his shop, as she had with every locally owned business, and she eventually made it her goal to add it to her collection of anything that even remotely referenced Weiss Guertena’s work. If it was no surprise, she too owned the local Gallery, which was a one-way ticket to fast cash in the tourist seasons.

Selling Embodiment of Spirit hadn’t given him as much as he had hoped for, and he ended up owing back more than what he had earned. The interest gathered was scarcely enough to pay off even a quarter of his loan, so any hopes of redeeming back the shop, despite his flack, was futile.

He had succumbed long ago, back when it had all started with Ib’s memory loss.

He let out a sigh, feeling his heart deflate once more. Everything was a repetitive, nauseating circle, and no amount of pretty seawater sights could change that.

He lingered on the railing, staring downwards to the water’s edge. The sound of whirling waves and spitting sea foam was hot in his ears, and he was somehow eerily reminded of what lay underneath.

It was a world that was silent, a world where man would never stand. Untouched, carefully preserved and without restraint; it seemed to pull him in, beckoning for his fall. The warm air was almost suffocating, bitter and smouldering on his tongue. His body seemed to move of its own accord, and he lifted a leg over the railing, teetering clumsily on the edge.

“It’s not so bad, I’m sure…” He muttered quietly, narrowing his eyes. He reached out slowly, feeling his weight begin to plunge forwards, before his phone started to vibrate madly in his shirt pocket, ripping him back into reality. He let out a cry of surprise, and found himself flailing about as he struggled to catch onto the rails. He snapped his eyes shut, readying himself for the drop, but nothing came. He slowly became aware of how he clung, like a caterpillar to a thin branch, all four of his limbs wrapped tightly around the rails.

It took a moment or two for him to register what had just happened, and he pushed himself onto the road, gasping madly. His head was swimming, and fear rattled in his bones.

_What was that…What was that…!_

He clutched tightly at his knees, digging deep into his skin. He bit at his hand, so hard he thought blood might flow, until the sound of ringing slowly reached his ears once more. He let out a strangled croak, his fingers struggling to pick up the phone and answer.

He could feel the shakes in his voice as he placed the phone beside his ear, “H-H-Hello?”

“Garry! Finally you pick up! Get your ass home, something is going on!”

“…H-Holly?”

“Yeah it’s me, forget what I sound like already? …Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He covered himself by coughing into his hand, and he stood back up, gripping tightly onto the bars for support. “What’s…going on?”

“Are you sure you’re okay? Like, you sound pretty bummed…Come home anyway, yeah? I need to talk to you.” She hung up as immediately as she had finished, and his feeling of fear doubled. He let out a few deep breaths, unsure of what to think, before he rearranged his bike and seated himself awkwardly.

With one swift kick, he had turned around and was peddling back down the road. Not once did he look back.

 

*

 

He hesitated at the door, having calmed down slightly since before. It had taken him only five minutes to ride back home, as he had powered all of his anxiety into every push of his legs, but now as he lingered, all sorts of thoughts were going through his mind.

What did Holly want to talk about? Was she still mad about this morning? He couldn’t really blame her, of course, but was that so urgent it needed a phone call like that?

It was unlike her to call up in such a rush. Was she perhaps eager to kick him out, maybe? Had she gotten so sick of him that she was hurrying to get him out the door as fast as she could?

As these thoughts began to swirl inside his head, the door was suddenly opened, and there stood Holly, arms crossed over her chest and a sympathetic half-smile on her face. He ogled her in surprise at her choice of wear; a sequined green mid-cut dress, silver flats and an assortment of bangles hanging off her left wrist. She swept a curled tress behind her ear, stepping aside to let him in, and he nodded obligingly, shuffling awkwardly through the door.

As he stepped into the lounge, he suddenly heard somebody cry, “Garry’s home!” and his knee almost buckled as he was collided into with a tight hug. Looking down at Jackson, who was wearing a white collared shirt and dress pants, he gave him an awkward pat on the back and gently detached his fingers. Jackson’s amass of black curls bounced as he swayed on his heels, and he blinked his large hazel eyes, opting to hold the older’s hand instead.

“Mom says we’re going to a diner!”

“I-Pardon?” He snapped his head to look at Holly, who gestured to the bathroom.

“Go shower and put something nice on. We’re all going out for dinner.”

“What? Since when did we-“

“I saved up.” She interrupted, bending to pick Jackson up and gently patting Garry’s shoulder. “We all need a break, you especially. So go get cleaned up, and I’ll get the engine warm.”

“But what about-“

“No buts! Except, get your butt in gear and hurry up! It’s a reservation, you know!” She flicked him in the forehead, before scooping her keys up off the table and walking out the front door. He simply stood there for a moment in silence, before dumping his bag onto the couch and pulling his shirt over his head, making his way towards the bathroom.

“She could’ve given me a heads up, first.” He muttered, turning the shower knob to one side. “I can’t possibly get ready in just five minutes.”

 

*

 

Contrary to Garry’s doubts, he was out the door with seconds to spare, running along with bare feet however. He saddled into the car, adjusting his coat around his shoulders and shoving his feet into a pair of heels. As he clicked open his compact mirror and began to apply eyeliner, Holly looked at him with a frown.

“You’re seriously not wearing that, are you?”

“Pardon?”

She gestured to the tattered frill of his coat, plucking at his sleeve with distaste. “That old coat. We’re going out somewhere fancy.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly know, did I? This was the first thing I grabbed.” He didn’t look at her, instead focussing intently on his makeup.

Holly backed out of their parking space, and she poked her head out of the window to look both ways, before easing carefully onto the road. “You’re just biased. I know it’s your favourite.”

“That I can’t deny.” He snapped the mirror shut, leaning his arm against the window.

“You’ve had that for how long?”

“Since I was a teenager.”

“And you’re how old now?”

“24.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Garry, these aren’t questions you’re supposed to answer so literally.”

“Oh.”

They fell into silence after that, Holly keeping her eyes focused squarely on the road, and making watchful judgements of when and where to turn. Garry watched her out of the corner of his eye, fascinated by how vigilant she was when it came to driving. He’d never pressed, but he knew she wouldn’t admit the change had come from when she was still pregnant with Jackson, and intoxication had caused a near accident for them both.

She really was someone who cared for others with all that she had, which is why he was surprised why she was treating him in on their night out. However, the lack of words between them and the usual warm and playful remarks that were absent today set an unexplainable edge, and it took Garry to clear his throat and press for an apology to break the tension. He wasn’t having himself be brought along just for pity’s sake, or because she felt obliged.

“Holly, about this morning-“

“Save it.”

He was shocked at how cut short he was, and he hunched his shoulders, sinking back into his chair. “I just-“

“Listen.” Holly’s voice softened, and he tilted his head to look at her. “You’ve been having a really hard time lately, so I get it. While I don’t appreciate the…inclination you had for me this morning, I know you didn’t mean it. That’s what tonight is for anyway.” She turned to him with a grin, and he blinked in surprise. “You always get like this around…now. So, we’ll also make it tradition to go out around this time, too. …Celebrate together, so you don’t have to do it on your own anymore.”

His eyes widened, and his heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t what he was expecting at all, and he felt tears prick in the corners of his eyes. He turned away, biting his lip, and Holly let out a loose laugh. “First I make you scurry, now I’m gonna make your makeup run! Sorry, sorry! C’mon, it’s over and done with. Tonight is going to be great.”

He felt her hand gently rub his back, and he straightened up again, flattening his fringe over his eye. He let out a deep breath, relief flooding through him, and he smiled in turn. “Thank you, Holly. ...By the way, this doesn't make up for you ditching me this morning."

Holly's grip on the steering wheel tightened, and she looked at him sheepishly. "My bad."

The next ten minutes of the car trip was filled with an endless game of eye-spy, Jackson repeating the option of ‘Tree’ every second turn, but both Holly and Garry made nothing of it. When they turned into another lane, and down the adjoining street, Garry’s jaw dropped at their stop.

Jackson had said ‘diner’, but this was far more exquisite than what he had imagined. The exterior was a lot larger than any of the local diners he had been too, and the sound of classical music and happy laughter filtered into the outside. It exhibited an air of radiance, and through the windows Garry could see people clinking their wine glasses and the soft glow of chandeliers warming over their forms. As they stepped inside, Garry could only compare it to some sort of private parlour; patterned leather booths lined the walls, separated by a brilliant burnish carpet. The low ceiling gave the establishment a rather underground feel, and Garry had to stop himself from continuously clicking his heels on the black marble floor of the waiting area.

A waiter, nose upturned and feet pointed outwards, showed them to their booth, a little nestled corner in the far back with a good view of the entire restaurant. Jackson climbed eagerly onto the emerald seating, squishing up to sit next to Garry. Garry ruffled his hair playfully, before Holly stopped with a start.

“Shoot, I left my purse in the car.” She grumbled, hurrying to push back out into the walkway. Garry stood quickly, edging his way out before Holly did. “I’ll get it, don’t worry.”

“No, it’s okay, I’ll-“

But he was already speed-walking away from the table, waving a hand over his shoulder. Holly followed in pursuit, and he sped up, eager to outmatch her pace. He weaved between two waiters, turning on his heel to face back towards the door before accidentally bumping into somebody trying to pass by.

He stopped in his wake, steadying the person in front of him. “Oh my! I’m so sorry, are you alri-“

The world went still.

His vision stilted at the edges, and everything seemed to blur. The lights, the sounds, as all that came into focus were eyes of red.

“Garry?”

* * *

 

_“Just like everything, even good love_

_Has to die_

_Ain’t no sympathy when it says goodbye_

_No one even cried_

_We were one of a kind_

_One of a kind.”_

_-‘Bitter Wine’, Jon Bon Jovi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there everyone, and happy new years! This is a little over five days of the due date that I wanted to finish this, but I'm really glad it's finished and done! I was so super excited writing this chapter, and I got super nervous towards the end where Garry ends up coming face to face with Ib again (if that wasn't obvious).  
> I wanted to flesh out a little more of Garry's mental health and just how bad Ib's absence affects him, because that's an important factor later on in the story. I'm also glad to have fleshed out Garry and Holly's friendship too, how they have ups and downs and how they forgive each other in the end. For Ib not being there, Holly really does try her hardest to make up for that, even if she's a tad misunderstanding at times.  
> To note, the Jon Bovi song I used has a lot of romantic implications, but the 'love' mentioned in the lyrics is far from that. The Garry and Ib relationship in this fic will remain strictly platonic \o/  
> Anyways, thank you for being patient with this update, and thank you for reading! I'm really happy about the near 200 views this fic has had already!


	4. Heart Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was only inches away, an existence he had tried so hard to forget. Except, she had forgotten, and it seemed like a reunion like this could be nothing but painful. His heart ached, to reach out and take her in his arms, but even that wasn’t permitted. He could only stand and watch as her eyes searched his face, wondering why this newly met person lingered with her so. And then came the questions, questions of a past best forgotten, and of a future neither of them could see.

  

‘Heart Wounds’

He couldn’t speak. His lips were moving but no sound or words were coming out. His brain fumbled for any sense of coherency, to turn such a surrealistic instance into one of logical circumstance. She was wide-eyed, crimson flaring nostalgically in his view, and he found he couldn’t look away. It was as if time was standing still, if only to tether them to the callous, painful reality that was long awaiting for when they would reunite. It spat and mocked, an ugly beast that was seething in his ears as she looked at him with nothing more than unfamiliarity.

Ib had hardly changed. She was certainly taller, slender, as adulthood had taken its reigns, but her shy countenance was something that was undisturbed, he saw, as she slowly eased back onto the ground from her toes and nervously played with a strand of her auburn hair. Long, black lashes framed those ruby eyes, and they seemed to fit unnaturally into her smooth and lengthened face. She was pale however, way too pale for what the grey beneath her eyes betrayed, a colour so hoary that should never have touched one for her young age.

There was something almost bittersweet about where they stood; he, inches from death only hours before, and Ib, a pervading existence that served to remind him of a past that was now long gone. He had never anticipated, or even let himself think about what would happen if they had ever crossed paths. Her parents had done a good job at keeping out of his way, and he the same, save for her birthday every year.

That’s when it hit him, why this place had seemed so familiar. He had offhandedly mentioned to Holly that ‘Aide-Mémoire’ was where the Rosetta family would invite him along to whenever they went out for dinner. It was their most frequented place, for both the posh air and the exquisite food, although Ib hadn’t much cared for the ‘stuffy’ atmosphere, as she had once put it.

His heart leapt in his throat as he wondered for a moment if perhaps Holly had set this up, and he nervously rubbed the back of his head, turning his gaze to the floor. Ib did the same, stepping back politely and bowing her head, uttering a quiet apology, and he found himself unable to move.

Now was his chance, he could see it; the opportunity to latch back on, to bring her back to where they had left off. She was still Ib, memories or none, and what happened in the Fabricated World was something _real_ that they had both experienced. Together.

_He had to convince himself of this._

He lifted a hand, and with it, Ib’s head rose, following his movements. She tilted her head in curiosity, her eyes lingering over his face, and he was well aware that she was on the cusp of figuring it out, figuring out that he recognized her.

He needed to stop that from happening. That was the reason Ib’s parents had let him go in the first place. With his presence, came the reality of unknown horrors holding place within this world. When he was around, Ib would only suffer from horrific, endless nightmares, and he could only do so much, if only to serve as a constant reminder of what had happened. With him gone, there was nothing left to tie Ib to the Fabricated World.

He had to stop. He couldn’t, wouldn’t let her go through that pain again.

_It hurts._

“I…”

_Missed you._

“Garry!”

His hand dropped to his side immediately, and he turned his head to see Holly fast-tracking towards him, a scowl set on her face. Jackson clung to one hip, deftly keeping up with his mother as she raised a fist, bonking it gently on Garry’s head.

“Wait up, will you? Geez, I can get my own purse, you know.”

“I…I uh…” He fumbled over his words, blinking rapidly, and Ib took a step backwards, getting Holly’s attention. The older raised an eyebrow, before giving her a humouring smile, jerking a thumb at Garry. “Is he being a problem? He probably ran into you when he was walking too fast. I apologize on his behalf.”

“No…I…” Ib’s voice was quiet, and as she too stumbled over her words, she was suddenly interrupted by another familiar voice calling, “Garry? Is that you?”

Ib blinked in surprise, and Garry snapped to attention, the both of them turning their heads to look at an awestruck Peter as he briskly walked towards them, accompanied by an even more gobsmacked Andrea. The two stood, ogling Garry with wide eyes, and Ib looked between her parents and the newcomer, becoming even more confused by the second.

“My, it’s been years!” Her father’s rigid expression suddenly melted into one of glee, and he stepped forward, wrangling the other into a tight hug. Garry’s eyes almost widened out of his sockets as he was perpetually lifted from the ground, suspended in mid-air for a second before being hesitantly released as Andrea tapped wryly on Peter’s shoulder.

He stumbled, having to be supported by Holly, who shot him a hardened look of ‘ _please explain what’s going on_ ’. He gasped inwardly, flailing his hand about as he gestured towards the Rosetta family, and Peter took the opportunity to offer his hand in greeting.

 “If I may, my name is Peter. We’re old friends of Garry, here. This is my wife, Andrea, and our daughter, Ib.”

Holly’s jaw dropped, and she almost dropped Garry where he stood. She quickly snapped back to her senses, however, and leaned forward to shake his hand. “The…Rosetta family, yes! I’ve heard about you. It’s very nice to meet all of you, at last! My name is Holly Fletcher, and this is my son, Jackson.”

Jackson waved his tiny fingers and grinned from ear to ear, coaxing a small, almost warm smile from Andrea and Holly took that moment to bump her elbow against Garry’s. He straightened up, duly offering his own hand, and Holly had to resist the urge to smack her forehead. Garry froze in embarrassment, lingering between shock and whether or not he should retract his hand. Peter balanced on one foot, chortling loudly as he grasped Garry’s hand in his and shook it wildly. Garry could only manage a gurgled stutter as he stepped back, bowing his head a little too low and shoving his hand deep into his coat pocket.

The awkward exchange left an air of imprudent silence between the two parties, before Holly noticed that Peter seemed to be glaring at her. However, what she had mistaken for a glare was more of a squint, and the man suddenly clicked his fingers and grinned at her.

“Holly Fletcher! I do remember you, now! Garry has spoken about you before. Were you not his roommate in college?”

Holly blinked in surprise. “Yeah, I was. Back when we were studying fashion design.”

“Ah, if ever there were a studious student, it was Garry. Friends for a long time then, no? Maybe you two are an item, now?”

“Peter!” Andrea hissed, pulling her husband aside, the two beginning to whisper in hushed tones. Garry could only catch bits and pieces, something about ‘priorities’ and ‘manners’, and he rolled his head a little to look at Holly, who was covering her mouth with a hand and glaring to the left. She blinked feverishly, intending to protest against the romantic presumption, but was interrupted suddenly as Peter straightened back up, offering them another enthusiastic smile.

“What I mean is, it’s nice to see you two as close as you are. Are you out for any special occasion, perhaps? We’re here to celebrate for Ib’s birthday, although, mind you, getting reservations here can be quite tricky, so we’re a few days late of the actual celebration.”

“Garry actually suggested this place a while back, so I figured we should at least check it out. We needed a break from work recently, but it’s funny how we ran into you all here.” Holly replied, crossing her arms and giving Peter a sideways glance.

He began to zone out of the conversation, fighting hard to keep his eyes from lingering over Ib for too long. He angled his head toward the ceiling, focussing on the way the chandelier lights blurred bright in his vision, trying to block out the stark realization that she was standing barely three feet away from him.

He wondered why it hadn’t passed completely through his head, or if he was actually too focused on using all of his willpower to try and remain steady. He had to give himself a little credit, because he expected nothing more than to burst out into tears or to run from anxiety, and yet here he was, strangely calmer than for how drastic it was of a situation.

This thought gave him a little reassurance, and for a brief moment, he believed in himself just enough to look back upon reality. As he went to give Ib a smile, red eyes and green wallpaper blurred in his vision, and he keeled over backwards and crumpled to the floor.

_So much for keeping it together._

*

“Oh my god-Garry!”

“Should we call an ambulance!?”

“Hold on, let’s get him to sit down first. That’s right, take it easy, now.”

Voices sifted in and out of earshot as he struggled to gain his bearings. Everything was spinning, lapsing from darkness to a splurging entourage of colours every time he blinked. Nausea wracked his body, and the back of his head began to throb. He felt hands, carrying or guiding him (he couldn’t tell which) over the floor, seating him gently against the back of a nearby booth.

His body felt limp, and he rested his head in his knees. Someone began to rub his back reassuringly, and he relaxed under their touch, sagging a little in his chair. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat, and strained to hear what sounded like garble coming from Holly’s mouth.

“Garry…-“

“Nh…”

“I’ve got the paramedics on the phone right now, and they’re asking if you’ve hurt yourself.”

It took a moment for him to process her words, and he pointed to his head shakily. “I…think I bumped my head…”

“Gotcha. They’ll be here in 10 minutes, so you’ve gotta stay put. I’m going to drive home quickly to pick up my purse-“

“So you actually forgot it at home, instead of in the car?”

He imagined Holly giving a scowl, and he heard her shuffling back and forth. “Funny. You sure you need the ambulance? You seem fine to me.”

“Sorry, sorry…”

“Anyway, Peter and Andrea have Jackson, and Ib’s here to keep you company. I’ll be right back, so don’t fret. Keep your head up.”

He huffed, causing her to chuckle and gently tousle his hair, before she turned on her heel and left. He sat still for a moment, slowly becoming aware of the hand that was still rubbing his back.

He blinked wearily, and looked up, sweeping his fringe to the side to meet Ib once more. Still recovering from the fall, his reaction time was slow, and he simply stared at her blankly while she shyly retracted her hand and shuffled across the seat away from him.

They stayed like that for a moment or two, before Garry whipped his head around to scout for Holly, who had long since disappeared. Peter and Andrea stood nearby, fussing over a crying Jackson, and he turned stiffly back to Ib, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. He couldn’t say he was at all used to this, but it was as if the fall had knocked the tiniest bit of sense back into him. That, or he was so unfocussed that his anxiety was nothing more than a numbing drawl dribbling away in his stomach now. Clearing his throat, he tried offering a shaky smile.

Finding his voice, he quietly muttered, “I…thank you.”

The younger blinked once, hiding a nod behind the tendrils of hair that fell over her face as she lowered her head shyly. She swept a strand out of the way, much to her dismay as she shifted in her seat and it covered her eyes once more. She almost snorted in annoyance as she tilted her neck back and swept her hair behind her ears, pulling it up into a loose bun. She pulled a scrunch-tie out of her purse, expertly managing to loop it through with only one hand, and she gently tightened it into place, letting out a finishing sigh.

Garry stared, a little in awe despite himself, and he clapped quietly. “Impressive.” He nodded, and Ib raised her eyebrows, turning away again.

“Is it really? It seems like something anybody could do.”

“Well, not exactly. You managed it on the first go, without so much as a struggle! A lot of people create lopsided buns when they do it that quickly. You did it with a single hand too.”

“Oh.”

“I used to have long hair like that, so you can trust me on this one.”

The odd topic nudged a quiet giggle from Ib, and she covered her mouth with her hand, hiding a tiny smile. Garry straightened, and he let out a groan as his head swum from the action. Ib turned back to him, hesitating for a moment before shifting closer and placing a hand reassuringly on his shoulder. Her hand brushed against the spiky hem of his collar, and she tugged on it absentmindedly, running her fingers in between its tattered creases. She seemed almost fascinated with it, a childlike curiosity appearing on her face as she leaned back to take in its entire design. The action caused Garry’s heart to twist a little, and he bundled himself up, pulling his knees to his chest.

Ib flinched, muttering an apology under her breath, to which Garry shook his head, and asked, “Do you like it? I’ve had it for a long time, you see.”

“Is that why it’s ragged?”

Her blatant honesty caused Garry to stop with a start, and he pouted, scratching at his nose. “Actually, it’s designed to be this way, although it’s had its fair share of being worn…”

Ib giggled again, tugging gently on his sleeve. “I like it. It suits you…Garry, was it?”

Garry’s eyes narrowed slightly, almost fondly, and he blinked it quickly away. He nodded, offering out his hand. “I…might have come off as a little, er, awkward before. I apologize. It’s nice to meet you…Ib.”

Ib looked from his face, and to his hand, blinking shyly. Garry tilted his head, before letting out a startled cry. “Oh! That’s right, in high class families, the women tend to curtsy, don’t they? I really should-“

He fell silent, as Ib reached forward, gently taking her hand in his. Garry stiffened, failing this time to keep the shock from his face as she shook it once, giving him a warm, and honest smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, as well, Garry.”

He was overcome, almost overwhelmed with the urge to leap forward and hug her tightly, but the moment was short-lived as the doors to the restaurant opened. He turned to spot two neon vested paramedics heading his way, a first aid pack in tow. He almost didn’t consider the lapse in judgement he had as Ib stood up to move, jolted on the spot by his tight grip on her hand. It was only for a second, but enough for Ib to pull briskly away as he let go. She ventured back to her parents for safety, not once looking back, and he had no time to even utter a goodbye as the paramedics stood before him.

Time moved lethargically, and the next half an hour or so was a blur. After a few tests and questions on the nature of his health, he was eventually escorted to the ambulance waiting outside. Apparently dramatic falls like that were something of real concern, especially if he had knocked his skull. As he was exiting through the doors, he looked over his shoulder for any sign of the younger girl, but it was to no avail. The Rosetta family, and Ib, had disappeared.

*

It was 1am by the time they left the hospital. The hours prior had been filled with an overextended waiting period in the front room, followed by tests and scans where answers wouldn’t be released until two weeks from then. The best they left with was a ‘fit for now’ discharge, and a warning for Garry to take it easy over those next few days.

The streetlamps overhead created static contrasts against the rain thudding against the windshield, cutting light between the periods of darkness from the surrounding storm. The air was cold, and not just physically. Garry felt the tension in the air, stronger than even before the restaurant, but this time he couldn’t place why.

He rubbed his bare arms gently, feeling the goosebumps having already risen to the surface. He had discarded his jacket as a makeshift blanket for Jackson, who was curled up in a ball asleep in the back seat. Holly hadn’t said a word to him since they had left the hospital, seemingly focused on the blind road ahead. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white from the cold.

He turned to look at her, surprised to find her set on edge, her jaw rigid, as they passed by the intersection. Whatever on earth was she so worked up about?

He reached out for the radio, even if it was against his better nature, and without warning his hand was precariously smacked away. He hissed, curling his knuckles under his chin, and he scowled at her.

“What’s your problem?”

She hunched her shoulders, grimacing slightly. “Jackson’s sleeping.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“That’s folly, Holly, and you know it.”

She blinked rapidly, looking up at him, her grimace turning into an amused smirk. “Not funny.”

“I beg to disagree. What’s on your mind?”

She pursued her lips, relaxing her shoulders and slouching a little in her chair. She let out a small sigh, seemingly wracking her brain for how to find the words. This made him a little worried.

“What’s…what’s the deal with Ib, anyway?”

“I…Pardon?”

He was taken-aback, stunned into momentary silence.

“I’ve told you already. She’s an old friend of mine.”

“You’ve said that, but I didn’t really…believe you, in all honesty.”

“What!?”

Holly let out a hoot of laughter. “Think about it, your best friend being a nine year old.”

“I…I mean she’s not my _best_ friend…”

“But you two were close, weren’t you? Then she had amnesia, and you had to get out of her life. But that’s all I’ve really heard. How did you two meet? Why did you have to leave? You’ve gotta give me some details here.”

He went silent once more, his hands slowly curling into fists. It’s not like Holly hadn’t a right to know; if anyone, she was the one person who he could tell anything. But how could he tell their story when he didn’t really believe it himself?

He sniffed, leaning his head against the shoulder of the chair and looking out the window. He lifted a hand and began to absentmindedly draw shapes on the fogged-up glass, almost as if his silence would deter the topic. But Holly wasn't going to give up that easily.

“Let’s see…You met her when you were 18, so before you met me. You met at the Guertena Exhibit, right?”

“…Right.”

“You two really got along, despite your age difference. Her parents seemed to like you too.”

“…Yeah.”

“Then there was the Fabricated World business…”

“Stop the car.”

“W-What?”

“I said, stop the car.”

Holly cautiously pulled over onto the side of the road, the soft hum of the engine and the gravel slick beneath their tires being all they could hear. She turned the ignition off, drowning their silence into the rain, and she turned to Garry, who was stiff in his chair.

They sat like that for a few minutes, Holly awkwardly scrolling through her phone as she waited for Garry to speak. He eventually shifted, one leg over the other, and turned towards her, his gaze hardened.

“When did I tell you about the Fabricated World?”

Holly lowered her head, fumbling with the pineapple charm dangling off the edge of her phone. She let out a sigh, and shook her head, flipping her phone shut.

“You were drunk. It was during our second year at college. Remember when I got pregnant?”

“Yeah.”

“The night I…”

“…Oh.”

As if the inclusion of another, almost taboo, subject balanced out Holly’s motives, Garry leaned forward and gently pet her shoulder. The night in question had been the very first where they had opened up to each other. Beyond playful laughter and casual conversations, under the heavy influence of alcohol to numb the effects of despair, Garry had seen Holly cry for the first time.

It was this that he had remembered most, where her heated face was suddenly awash with tears, quiet mumblings turning into loud, uncontrollable sobbing. For someone so headstrong, he could never forget the image of her breaking down as she did.

She shrugged him off, unwilling to accept that sudden act of pity, and she waved a hand dismissively, poking him gently in the chest.

“You were rambling on and on about Guertena, something about haunted paintings, manikin heads and being transported to another world. I seriously thought you were on a drug trip.”

Garry cheeks turned beet red with embarrassment. “You’re making it sound like I was an addict.”

“You kind of were, you know. But you’re dodging my question. What is Ib to you? And what does this Gallery have to do with it?”

Garry scratched his cheek with a finger, clicking his tongue quietly. “…You’re going to laugh.”

“I might. Can’t promise I won’t.”

He took in a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. With how he had acted today, such a thing really couldn’t be avoided. Holly deserved the truth, at the very least. He could only hope she wouldn’t kick him out where they had parked.

Mustering his courage, he muttered, “…I wasn’t lying.”

“About?”

“…The Fabricated World.”

“…I’m willing to listen.”

And so he told their story, from finding himself in a foreign place, surrounded by darkened halls and malicious paintings just waiting to attack from the walls. He told of his first encounter of near death, and how he was brought back from the brink, only to meet ruby eyes and the hand of a little girl holding his rose. From the puzzles, to meeting Mary, to being separated from Ib and having to make a getaway when the painting girl took to the chase.

He tried to summarise as best as he could, careful to not get carried away, and even more careful to avoid the topic of Mary’s demise. By the time he had reached to talking about the part of the gallery where the painted bird was showing them a safe path, she put up a hand, silencing him mid-sentence.

He snapped his mouth shut, anxiously rubbing the back of his head. His stomach had gone cold, and his legs felt like jelly. Holly had been smart, trapping him in the car like this, for there was nowhere to run when the topic had arisen before. Her face was unreadable in the dark, but he could almost feel her musing over his words. She rolled her head, trying hard to comprehend what he was telling her.

She knew him to not be very mentally well. His medical record showed he suffered from PTSD, hallucinations, anxiety, and a handful of other similar illnesses. This was bizarre, and here he was, completely sober, and completely convinced such a wild tale had happened.

She suddenly became worried how Ib had been caught up in all of this, if he really had met her when he was high and what might have come with it. She began to feel a little nauseous, pondering if, just maybe, their setup was just as sketchy as it seemed.

Garry was the nicest person she knew, and it had really hit him hard when Ib had suffered from amnesia. But what confused her was the fact that Ib seemed to only forget him, and that he was booted soon after from seeing her when this occurred.

It all led up to a wary, borderline suggestive idea. The one thing that didn’t make sense however, was tonight, when Peter had welcomed him warmly back into their arms. If Ib’s parents knew of anything that made Garry a threat, she was sure they would do everything they could to keep as far away from him as possible. But there was no restraining order, no court order, nothing except a fading promise that Garry himself had made.

She shifted uneasily, caught between her lingering doubts and her underlying urge to believe everything he said. She trusted Garry with her life, with Jackson’s life even. Why was all of this so tricky to comprehend?

“Garry.”

He looked up, and she flicked on her phone, shining the light up to his face. His shoulders were hunched, his eyes darting back and forth, his face amass with embarrassment. He narrowed his gaze, looking to the side, before snapping back to look at her when she leaned forward and gently placed her hand on his. Their fingers curled, and their touch lingered, a residual moment of something other than reassurance fleeting across in their wake. Holly never broke her gaze, and she squeezed his hand gently.

“You promise me something.”

He stared back at her, the faintest rosy tinge on his cheeks, before he nodded only slightly.

“…Yeah?”

“Promise me that you never hurt Ib.”

He flinched at the words, at the inclination she was getting across, and he feverishly shook his head, tightly gripping her hand back.

“I never. I can swear on everything with that.”

“Then what is she to you?”

Garry’s heart fell, and his grip eased. He couldn’t have possibly hoped that Holly would have believed anything that had happened, but here she was, at the very least showing an interest, and a concern.

He let out another jutted sigh, turning back towards the window. His finger traced along the mottled, dripping edges of the rose pattern he had drawn. It melted in his view, condensation from the rain outside causing it to bleed downwards, becoming almost indistinguishable from its originally messy form.

“In all honesty…She’s someone who saved my life.”

*

The loud echo of the rain outside did little to calm the intensive thoughts racing through her mind. She lay on her bed, her hair splayed out around her, hugging a large pillow with all four of her limbs as she tapped eagerly on the rhythmic game flashing on her phone screen.

She couldn’t help feeling excited, ecstatic even, that she had the chance to meet such an interesting pair at the restaurant. The type of people that her parents brought home, albeit rarely, were all of the posh and bigoted sort. She hadn’t ever met anyone who was even close to her age, and that in itself was enough to make her smile in glee, and she kicked her legs back and forth across the bedsheets.

She pressed her phone off, rolling over onto her side to face the fall, clenching the pillow tighter to try and calm herself down. This was exactly the kind of breakthrough she had been waiting for, and even though her parents forbade her from leaving the house, it was certainly a notion that filled her with delight.

They had left the restaurant in a rush, after the person known as Garry was being looked over by the paramedics. Peter had looked solemn, almost regretful, but Andrea’s urgency had pushed him to hop into the car and drive away, never looking back.

Such an instance was odd; in fact, the entire night had been rather bizarre. Her mother in particular had been more wary than usual, as if the violet-haired person who had fainted before them was someone to fear, but her father seemed to think otherwise.

What she couldn’t place however, was that they had obviously recognized him. So why didn’t she?

She had put the question forward, only to receive silence and a half-baked lie about workplace matters when she continued to insist. It came to the point where Andrea had opted to turning on the radio, something she would _never_ do (she had a vendetta against any sort of ‘modern’ music, it seemed), and that was when Ib knew something was off.

Her parents may have been good at keeping secrets, but they were no better liars than the Garry she had met before.

She blinked once, curling a little more into herself as she lifted a hand to her face, turning it gently as if she was examining its entire surface.

There was something amiss, something she couldn’t place as to why her hand still tingled from his touch, and why he had looked at her with such an ache in his eyes.

He had tried to hide it, tried to bury _something_ deep down inside that _she_ had somehow reminded him of. It puzzled her to no end that she might have been the reason why he had fainted. It was all too coincidental, and she was sure there was something all three of them were hiding from her.

She opened her phone once more, sliding through her apps until she reached the ‘Gallery’ icon. She swiped through separate folders, tapping on one image in particular, and using her fingers to zoom in close. It was a blurry image of a car driving along, a snapshot she had taken through a nearby window just before they had made their leave. She bit the inside of her cheek, focussing on the bright green letters that were emblazoned alongside the front and passenger side doors. She tapped her cheek, carefully mouthing out the rather ridiculous title the words seemed to make.

“Peter Penanski’s…Pizza Palace?”

Well, that certainly wasn’t a flower shop, but it was a place to start.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I said I'd update quicker, but I kind of didn't. Again. I apologize about that! If it helps, I wrote two of the scenes in a span of two days, so I at least have faith in the fact that I can get things done so quickly if I focus and work hard enough?  
> On another topic, I'm so happy for 230 hits on the fic!! Thank you all so very much!! I really want to become more active, and having had so many people read it already is super motivational \o/  
> In the meantime, before I upload the next chapter, I'm going to be making slight changes and fixes to the prior chapters, so I'll notify you all when I do. Thank you for reading, and I hope you have a lovely day!!


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